Just Let the Love, Love, Love Begin
by hopelessromantic0707
Summary: A Puck/Quinn one-shot set after "Sectionals". My first Glee story.


**Author's Note: Glee and all its characters belong to Fox. This is my first Glee story, so I'm not sure the characterization is exactly right but I really enjoyed writing this. **

**Title is taken from Ingrid Michaelson's song "Everybody".**

**Please leave feedback and I hope you like it.**

Quinn Fabray was a rational person. She realized that her current situation- living in a rather seedy motel that rented rooms by the hour and further encouraged the theory that she was a slut that didn't deserve help or sympathy from anyone- was entirely of her own design. Yes, Rachel had been the one to tell Finn he wasn't the baby's father, but Quinn was not naïve enough to think that she could blame it all on Rachel, make her life a living hell, and leave it at that. Her life was pretty much a living hell at the moment and she wouldn't wish this on anybody. The crappy job at the Waffle House on 75, falling asleep in Calc because the couple in the motel room next to yours has nightly screaming matches, your back muscles feeling like they're on fire after a full day of walking the halls, lugging various binders and textbooks along with the weight of your rapidly growing little girl…these were all things with which a typical teenage girl did not have to contend. She brought this on herself and she could be strong enough to deal with the consequences.

****

Quinn Fabray may have been a rational person, but on a particularly frigid Friday morning in February, rationality lost the fight. Karofsky and one of his minions blindsided her with a double whammy: a slushie to the face and- this was new- one down the front of her dress.

Slushie showers were as familiar to her now as brushing her hair. She had mastered the art of walking in a straight line while crushed ice, in an assortment of colors, stung her eyes a long time ago. The second slushie, though, was too much to handle.

Quinn whirled around to face Karofsky, fire blazing in her eyes.

"I am so sick of your crap, Karofsky," she said in a calm voice that was laced with venom. She hesitated a second, seemed to make a decision with herself. Reaching into her dress, she extracted a generous handful of purple ice from somewhere within it and shoved it squarely in Karofsky's face.

"Not as satisfying on the receiving end, is it?" Quinn questioned, crossing her arms over her chest, not bothering to hide the small smirk that was on her lips.

What happened next was a blur. One minute, Karofsky was wiping slushie out of his eyes. Quinn heard him mumble something that sounded like slut about five seconds before the world went dark.

****

"Quinn!"

"Quinn, can you hear me?"

Quinn was vaguely aware that someone was calling her name. She couldn't make out much more than that, but it was repeated a few more times, each one more urgent than the last. She opened her eyes slowly, and a soft groan of protest escaped her lips as the fluorescent lights of the hallway caused rainbows of color to pulse through her vision.

When her eyes normalized, the sharp features of Puck's face came into view. He looked at her with a mixture of concern and anger, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face. The instant his hand made contact with the side of her head, she winced in pain and the spell was broken. Puck seemed to realize what he had been doing and pulled back immediately.

"I'd ask if you enjoyed your nap, but that big ass bruise you've got makes me think you weren't skipping AP World History for the hell of it."

"Karofsky decided to get a little too slushie-happy and needed to be brought down a peg," Quinn offered by way of explanation.

"And you ended up conked out on the floor how exactly?"

"He wasn't all that thrilled with the slushie I could dig out of my bra making contact with his face. He shoved me into the lockers and…"she moved a hand up and down her body to indicate that her current position was the end of the story.

"I'm gonna go smash his face in, okay? Be right back," Puck said, moving to stand up.

"No, Puck…really, I'm fine," Quinn said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him from following through with his plan. "Just help me up."

He nodded in acquiescence to her request, held out his hand, and gently pulled her to her feet.

She swayed slightly as she stood and Puck wrapped the free hand that wasn't holding hers around her waist to steady her.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he said matter-of-factly, "and if that idiot Karofsky did any damage that's more permanent than a broken fingernail, he's toast."

****

Two hours later, Quinn was sitting in an exam room with Puck, waiting for a doctor to explain the results of her CT scan. A nurse had already done a sonogram and informed them that their baby was fine (Quinn had never really thought she was hurt; a bump on the head has nothing to do with your uterus).

There was a knock at the door and a middle-aged blonde woman entered the room, a large manila folder in her hand.

"Quinn Fabray?" she asked kindly.

At Quinn's nod, she said, "I'm Dr. Mills," before taking a seat in a chair opposite her.

"I've taken a look at your CT scan and you appear to have a concussion. It's nothing too serious," she said, glancing toward Puck in surprise.

Quinn followed the doctor's gaze and saw that the muscles in Puck's face were twitching as he tried to keep his anger in check. She squeezed his hand and shot him a half-smile before returning her attention to Dr. Mills.

"I'm sorry, what was the last thing you said?" she questioned politely.

"I'm going to give you some painkillers to help with the headache and dizziness. Also, you should stay awake for the next twenty-four hours as a precaution," the doctor stated, handing over a page from her prescription pad.

****

After signing herself out of the emergency room and picking up her prescription from Walgreens, Quinn was sitting in the passenger seat of Puck's pickup, content and lost in thought.

"Did you want to go back to school?" he asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. There was only an hour and a half left in the school day.

"No. Can you take me to the Buckeye Motel? It's off 75."

"Why do you need to go there?" he asked, disdain leaking into his words. "That place is a rat trap."

"It's where I live at the moment," she said cautiously, afraid of his reaction to her answer.

Puck didn't say anything for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet she could barely hear him.

"I'm sorry."

"I wanted to do this on my own, remember?" she pointed out. "Besides, I've always been a little slow on the uptake."

"We'll get your stuff but you're staying at my house, at least for the weekend," he said.

Quinn didn't argue. She was happy she had a reason to be close to him again.

She smiled. "You can help me stay awake. If I fall asleep, I'm blaming you."

****

It was close to 3 a.m. and Quinn could feel her eyelids starting to get heavy. She glanced at the coffee table in front of her, strewn with debris from the evening: a half-eaten bag of Swedish Fish, a box of Mallomars with three left, some leftover pasta and sesame chicken from Puck's refrigerator, and two cups of hot chocolate.

She was sprawled out on Puck's couch, wearing one of his long-sleeved football shirts and a pair of sweatpants she'd bought for $7 at Old Navy last week. He was sitting on the floor, with his back resting against the couch. The end credits of _Fight Club _were rolling down the television screen in front of them.

As the credits finished, Puck jumped up from his position on the floor, turning to face her and looking somewhat startled.

"Shit, I fell asleep again…and this movie wasn't even a girly one," he muttered.

Quinn laughed. They'd been alternating movies since five in the afternoon. He'd made her watch _Black Hawk Down_, _Gran Torino_, and _Pulp Fiction_; she'd made him watch _My Best Friend's Wedding_, _Funny Girl _and _(500) Days of Summer_.

"It's ok," she said. "At least you eventually wake up."

"Do you need a refill of anything?" he asked, covering an oncoming yawn with the back of his hand.

"Stop stalling because you know it's my pick," she admonished. "On second thought," she hesitated. "…mint chocolate chip ice cream would be heaven," she finished sheepishly, looking at her lap.

"Cool. Be back in a sec," Puck said, and started in the direction of the kitchen.

****

When he returned ten minutes later, Puck had Quinn's ice cream in one hand, a can of Reddi-Whip in the other, and a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips were between his teeth.

As he unloaded all these things onto the table, he asked, "So, what chick flick am I watching now?"

"_Breakfast at Tiffany's_," Quinn said decisively.

Puck groaned but moved toward the cabinet next to the TV in search of the movie. It didn't take long to find it and, after popping it into the DVD player, he sat on the edge of the couch.

His eyes met hers in a silent question. In response, she pulled her knees up to her chest to give him more room.

Quinn didn't know what the future would bring but, as the opening chords of "Moon River" began, she realized that tonight she was content to be in the present. Life could start again tomorrow.


End file.
